


Untouchable

by theleaveswant



Category: Misfits
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-22
Updated: 2010-12-22
Packaged: 2017-10-13 23:05:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/142706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theleaveswant/pseuds/theleaveswant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was a jacket hanging on the crooked peg, the jean jacket he'd worn the night they all went clubbing, when he followed himself back to Nikki's apartment. The night everyone loved him, and no one could touch her, just like always.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Untouchable

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stainofmylove](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stainofmylove/gifts).



> For stainofmylove. Originally inspired by the prompt "mix tape" on one of her excellent commentfic sprees, but somebody else already filled that. Takes place between 2x04 and 2x05, references to canon violence, death, and non-con.

On her way back from ditching the others outside scrubbing graffiti to go cry alone in the toilets—for the third time this morning already, bloody hell; she heard Nathan speculating behind her back as she left this time that she'd contracted a “personal infection,” and Curtis asking him how exactly she was supposed to have managed that—Alisha paused. She turned her head to look through the door of the changeroom, down the row of dented lockers, the scuffs on the floor where the guy in the mask had hauled Curtis to safety when that shape-shifter, Lucy, tried to suffocate him.

Simon's locker. Not her Simon, not yet, not really. But presumably he had the same sweat, the same smell? Surely that wouldn't change in—shit, did he even say how far in the future he'd come back from? He didn't look much older, but who knew what weird shit could happen to account for that?

Alisha didn't realize she'd decided to poke around until she found herself standing in front of the locker, her palms on its cool surface. She reached up to hook her fingers under the vent at the top and gave it a gentle tug. It budged a little but stayed put, so she pulled harder the second time. Alisha winced at the shriek it made popping open, but Shaun the probation worker didn't appear to deem the noise worthy of investigation so she peered around the other side of the door.

There was a jacket hanging on the crooked peg, the jean jacket he'd worn the night they all went clubbing, when he followed himself back to Nikki's apartment. The night everyone loved him, and no one could touch her, just like always. Alisha reached into the locker and lifted the jacket off the hook. She brought it to her face, tentatively, rubbed the left breast panel against her cheek. Its rough outside smelled of beer and cigarette smoke.

With a cautious glance towards the door, aware of the irony, the scorn she'd face for sniffing the pervert's clothes, Alisha folded the jacket open to the lining and breathed. She brushed her lips against the collar, the shadow between his shoulderblades, even the armpits. The cologne was different, stronger now than what he'd worn earlier, what he'd wear later, but underneath there was something familiar, something that smelled like a memory, now washed away in blood and petrol and charred meat, charred plastic. Simon.

Alisha choked on a sob and crumpled the jacket, crushed it against her chest and stared helplessly at the floor of the locker until she was able to breath again. There was a lump in the jacket, caught between her breast and her upper arm. Wiping tears from her cheeks with her thumb, she released her deathgrip on the jacket and fumbled the breast pocket open to identify the hard-edged object. His mp3 player.

With a sniffle she thumbed the power button, suddenly desperate to know whether he listened to the same music now as he would in his secret apartment, whether he named his playlists like she did or just sorted them like her dad, “driving 1” and “workout 2.”

The screen came to life and she flicked through to his library, froze when she found the playlists. He did name them. The first name on the list was “Alisha.”

Stunned, Alisha scrambled for the ear buds—suppressing the random urge to put one in her mouth, because that was a whole new level of gross and creepy—and hit “play.”

Her eyes closed and she slumped against the locker next to Simon's when the first track started, delicate piano and a woman's mournful keen.

“What are you doing?” She jumped when his voice cut through the second chorus, and blinked at Simon, present-Simon, not her Simon, standing in the doorway in his orange jumpsuit.

“Is this really what you think of me?” she asked, holding out the player so he could read the display—Natalie Merchant, “My Skin.”

Simon shook his head, looking embarrassed. “It's too obvious.”

“What do you mean?”

“It's practically literal, in your case. Not at all subtle. It's not you.”

“Don't think anyone's ever called me subtle before. How d'you know it's not me?”

“I guess I don't.” He stayed in the doorway, well out of reach, that same stupid look of puzzled concern crinkling up his face. “Do you think it's you?”

Alisha couldn't answer that. “Aren't you wondering what I'm doing fishing around in your locker?”

She took two steps towards him and he sort of leaned back, away from her, though his feet stayed planted in the same place.

“Of course I am,” he answered, but Alisha was already tearing the buds from her ears and throwing the jacket down on the floor and the player on top of it.

“Just forget it,” she said. “You wouldn't understand it anyway. How could you have any idea what I'm feeling?”

“Then tell me,” he said, straightening but keeping his hands carefully at his sides.

Alisha scoffed and stepped over the jacket, pinning him to the door frame with her impenetrable bubble of personal space.

“Do you want to kiss me?” she asked, sneering.

Simon's mouth parted and his bottom lip quivered. He looked pained.

“That's what I thought.” She stomped back outside to retrieve her scouring brush.


End file.
